Hot Apple Cider
by akmdreamer
Summary: In GoF, a sort of beginning-of-a-friendship moment for Harry and Ginny. Ron is being a prat after Harry's name is drawn from the Goblet, so Ginny and Hermione attempt to cheer him up. H/G friendship.


**DISCLAIMER: ...*sigh* Does anyone read these, anyway? I'm sure I could say that I am Daniel Radcliffe's girlfriend (sadly not true), carrying Rupert Grint's child (thankfully not true), J.K. Rowling's niece, (also sadly not true), and the heir to the throne of England (um…just plain not true), and you'd skip right over this thinking I'd said some simple, very true thing about me not owning Harry Potter. In any case, I don't own Harry Potter. Review if you even _read_this.**

Dedicated to my awesome friend Lilly (Luna-Moonberry-Lovegood) who inspired me to write this, and always encourages me in my writing endeavors, giving me invaluable advice, insight, and a healthy dose of teasing while she's at it! LYLAS, Lils!

**~Ari**

* * *

><p>The air was brisk and icy, the promise of a coming winter almost tangible in the crystalline air. I huffed out a heavy breath just to see the resulting cloud of mist, and smiled. October 31st. Halloween.<p>

It had never been my favorite holiday, but it was an excuse, at the least, to get off classes early and have a huge feast laden with all my favorite autumn foods...Just earlier, though, the champions for the Triwizard Tournament had been chosen, and I had a lot to think about.

Immediately afterwards, Ron had run to me to plead his case when Hermione had effectively and logically shot it down.

"Ginny? Ginny!" he called now as we stood from the steps of the castle and were hustled inside by Filch along with the other loiterers.

"Hmm? Sorry," I murmured.

Ron scowled. "I said, I'm sure you'll see my point! He _obviously _put his name in the Goblet, he's just trying to get glory and riches and all that, he should've told me -"

"This _is _Harry we're talking about, right? Not you?" I queried absently, waving to Hagrid.

"I - of _course_!" Ron exclaimed nastily.

"Ron," I said patiently, "anyone who has had any sort of proper conversation with Harry Potter should know that he despises his fame. Why would he want more? He said he wasn't going to put his name in, right? So why would he? He's already rich, he's already famous, he doesn't want more. He would've told you."

"You said anyone who's had a proper conversation with him, right? So you can't really vouch," Ron sneered angrily.

I frowned. "Really, Ronald, how immature can you get! Just get over your little bout of jealousy and support him! He needs a friend now, Ron, and you're doing a lousy job."

With that, I marched off to find Hermione.

I found her outside the portrait hole, waiting for me.

"Any luck?" she enquired.

I shook my head bitterly. "No, but he'll come around. He just needs to let his little tantrum work itself out."

"I hope he doesn't give Harry too much trouble up in the dorms," Hermione murmured, twisting her hands, her brow creased in worry.

"They'll probably exchange a few choice words, go to bed, and ignore each other for as long as they can. I hope Ron doesn't actually go so far as I've heard some Hufflepuffs and Slytherins," I said with a heavy sigh.

Hermione shook her head. "Balderdash," she announced to the Fat Lady glumly.

"Oh, very well," the portrait said with a slight smile at us.

* * *

><p>The next day, Hermione approached me at lunch.<p>

"I've done everything I can. I talked to Ron, I reasoned with Ron, I yelled at Ron...and you've done the same. What now?" she asked.

"Now, we focus on Harry. He'll need the support, of course."

Hermione nodded. "I brought him some breakfast this morning, and we took a walk and talked. I told him Ron was just jealous, which seemed to make him even more angry. You know how much he hates all this," she added wryly, gesturing at the Goblet of Fire, but seeming to somehow encompass all of Harry's fame in her sweep of a hand.

I nodded. "Well, he needs to have a good attitude in time for the first task. If he doesn't have any motivation, he won't prepare, and if he doesn't prepare..."

"Then he's as good as signed his own death!" Hermione burst out in a fit of frustration.

I shook my head. "Boys. I'll never understand them, especially those two."

Hermione laughed, though it sounded a little shaky.

"Well, I've done all I can for now," she said with a quick sideways glance at me. "I think it's your turn."

My eyebrows shot into my hairline. "_What_? But - I'm not even - I'm not even his friend, really!"

"Now is a great time to start!" Hermione chirped, and with that, the little bushy-haired witch skipped out of the Hall.

* * *

><p>Later that same day, I found myself in front of a large still-life of a fruit bowl, a half-formed plan in my mind, completely convinced that I'd gone mad.<p>

Tucking a curl of long, candy-apple hair behind my ear, I surveyed the painting. I knew how to get in from Fred and George, but I was more than a little skeptical about it. It would be just like them to give me the wrong instructions.

I glanced over my shoulder nervously. Every noise - the swish of my school robes, the click of my trainers on the floor, even my own quiet breathing - seemed much too loud, amplified by the stretch of empty corridor behind me.

Finally, I reached up and ran a finger over the curve of the pear in the painting. It squirmed, so I did it again. It gave a wheezy chuckle that almost reminded me of Filch. At that thought, I shot another quick look behind me. When no unpleasant old caretaker or his freakishly-smart cat appeared, I tickled the pear again. It began to giggle once more, twisting, writhing, and -

It was a large, oddly-shaped, bright green doorknob.

I raised my eyebrows and tried to suppress a giggle, wondering how Fred and George had managed to figure out what to do. Probably one of their favorite mottoes: _Trial __and __Error_. I wondered how much "error" they had to go through to conclude that to enter the kitchens they must _tickle __the __pear_.

Shaking my head, I grabbed the doorknob, and pulled. Stepping into the brightly-lit, cheery kitchens, I blinked a few times to clear my vision, which danced with spots of light due to the abrupt change in lighting.

"What can Dobby do for Miss? Dobby has not seen Miss before, but Dobby would be pleased to serve any student of the noble Hogwarts!"

I looked down to see the most adorably ugly creature I've ever seen standing in front of me, it's small hands out in a gesture of servitude, it's face split into a bright smile. A House Elf. I'd known they worked at Hogwarts - in fact, the school hosted the largest amount of the beings in Britain - but I'd never seen one before.

"I - er - Wait, did you say you name is Dobby?" I asked, kneeling to his level. He nodded, surveying me through large, puzzled, bright green eyes.

"Oh, but my brother Ron and my friends Hermione and Harry have told me all about you, Dobby!"

Dobby's eyes widened even more. "Miss has heard of...of _me_? I is just a humble House Elf, Miss! Harry Potter is so good, so great to tell of a simple House Elf!"

I smiled. "Yes. Yes, he is, isn't he?" I murmured, a little sadly. "Incidentally, it's because of Harry that I'm here. Do you think you could do something for me? I'm trying to cheer him up."

"Anything!" cried Dobby, seeming about to burst with cheerfulness and rapture.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, I exited the kitchens carrying a thermos and two mugs, bowed out by the sweet little Elves, all begging me to come back and visit them soon, saying they would be happy to serve "Kind Miss!" again.<p>

I fastened my cloak more tightly around my shoulders, and scrambled down the corridor, giving the heavy oak doors that led to the vast grounds of Hogwarts a push and spilling out into the frigid evening air. It would be dark soon, but still people crowded the courtyards. I found Harry in the same one he'd been in since after dinner. He sat on a stone bench, its legs carved as lion's paws, his cloak loose and whipping around him in the wind. He was alone.

His dark hair was longer than I had ever seen it, and I decided that it suited him. His emerald eyes were heavily-lidded against the cold air, but I could still make out the slits of bright, icy green.

I made my way towards him, and even when I stood directly in front of him, he didn't look up. I sighed.

"Harry," I stated quietly.

"Hiya, Ginny," he mumbled. Still, no further response.

I shook my head. Words weren't needed, I decided.

So instead, I sat next to him, opening the thermos and letting the sweet, tangy scent of hot apple cider explode into the air around us. I poured some, and handed him a mug, doing the same for myself.

He cradled the thick, heavy cup in both hands, staring at it morosely. I cupped his hands with mine, and guided the mug to his lips. He drank obediently.

Harry gave a shiver, and then he sighed, a release of breath, light instead of heavy, and a small, almost imperceptible smile graced his features.

A start, at least.

**A/N: I started this ages ago, but I lost a bunch of files when my computer died. I hadn't been happy with how it had turned out in the first place, so I decided that it was the perfect excuse to re-start it. I'm much better with angsty fluff than humorous fluff anyway! :) Hope you enjoyed!**

~PhoenixFlameGinny67


End file.
